


Rounded and Afraid

by SansyFresh



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscarriage Scare, NO DEATH, Panic Attacks, Skeleton Pregnancy (Undertale), Violence, m-preg, pregnancy symptoms, skelepreg, throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-08 04:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansyFresh/pseuds/SansyFresh
Summary: Closing his eyes, he allowed himself ten seconds. Ten seconds to breathe, to let his mind clear, to think about anything other than what was now his little secret.





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something I've been writing and posting for a little while over on my tumblr, and it's nearly done so I thought I'd start posting it over here.
> 
> The main character is my boy Portugal, and the other is Lady_Kit's boy Twist, so uh...if that's not your thing, might wanna move along. 
> 
> There is a lot of stuff dealing with pregnancy and angst, which is the whole point of this fic. There are some softer moments, but most of it is dealing with anxiety, panic, real pregnancy symptoms, and the like.

The bag was ripped open, articles of clothing torn from their wayward places around the room and shoved inside with a force entirely driven by emotion. He hated the way he sniffled, the way tears pooled in his sockets as he tried so desperately to hold it together even as he stuffed the duffel bag he’d found stashed inside one of the closets. Markus wouldn’t care, not even when Portugal never came back. Grabbing his wallet and keys off the nightstand, he stuffed both inside the bag, zipping it with a jerk of his hand. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself ten seconds. Ten seconds to breathe, to let his mind clear, to think about anything other than what was now his little secret. 

 

When the seconds passed he opened his eyes, set his jaw, took the bag and left.

 

~.~

 

The door to his apartment creaked as he swung it open, the dingy carpet a sort of comfort to his soul. It was familiar here, safe, a balm to his still panicking, pounding soul, the pressure inside his chest building to almost unbearable levels. Letting the strap to the duffle bag slip off his shoulder, he ignored the way it thumped onto the floor as he dragged himself over to the lumpy couch, sitting with a slight bounce, his head in his hands.

 

What the hell was he supposed to do? He’d left the one person that might have cared enough to help him (that was a lie he was nothing to Markus but a fuckbuddy and occasional stress relief), and it wasn’t like he could turn to the others. Really the only option he had left was to go back to his broth-

 

His sockets cringed shut, tight and painful. He couldn’t. He didn’t know his own feelings on this yet but his brother would do absolutely nothing but tear him a new one for getting himself into this mess. And...he’d make him get rid of the problem. 

 

Sockets slitting open, he rested his hand on the slight swell of his now permanently summoned ecto stomach. He’d always had a bit of chub around his middle, nothing important in the grand scheme of things, but when he’d tried to get rid of it this morning, it’d stayed. Taking a breath, he slowly lifted the hem of his shirt, the emerald glow making him faintly nauseas even as he focused in on the impossibly tiny dot of light that hovered inside the mass of magic.

 

He was a father, or maybe mother? Skeleton’s really didn’t have a gender, though none of that really mattered in the long run. He was this child’s parent, their sole caregiver, and nothing had ever scared him as much as that thought. He would grow larger as the child grew inside him. There would be pain, sickness, and none of it would be pleasant. 

 

Letting his shirt fall, he leaned forward, hand over his mouth. He was going to be sick, was it starting already? There was a moment of static, of noiseless sound and nothing but a blank white where his thoughts should have been, and in the next he was leaning over the toilet the apartment came with, hurling magic into the bowl. The curdled green magic tasted bitter, the feeling of it making him gag more. He was still breathing heavily, his head spinning as he leaned against the toilet, closing his sockets and willing himself to calm down. 

 

Yes, his life was pretty well ruined until he had the kid. Yes, it was going to suck pretty much the whole damn time. No, he was not a pansy ass that was going to continue having a fucking panic attack about it. He was going to get up, get out of this nasty shirt, take a shower, and take a fucking nap, in that order.

 

Slowly standing, he gripped the edge of the sink, his head swimming as he started undoing the buttons of his shirt. His fingers trembled even as he slipped the shirt off his shoulders and to the floor, his pants following suit as he stepped out of them and into the bathtub. Turning the faucet, he shivered as the cold water pattered over his skull, hitting the warmest parts of his spine. Turning the knob, he waited for it to warm up then took a loofah from its hook and liberally poured soap over it, sudsing it up with his fingers.

 

The scrape of it over his bones was a familiar pressure, the feeling of the grime and sweat of every day life being wiped away almost therapeutic. When he got to his stomach it felt strange enough that he paused, watching the way his faux skin reacted to the scratchiness of the loofah. The green would turn white at the harshest parts, but would slowly regain its color after a moment of no touch. 

 

Shaking his head, he finished up, taking the shower head down to rinse the more difficult to reach parts of his pelvis before putting it back and turning off the water. Grabbing a towel from the shelf, he dried his arms and legs, moving the thinnest part through his pelvis before stepping out. His bare feet clacked against the laminate flooring as he moved past the mirror, ignoring the faint green glow that illuminated his ribcage. 

 

Stepping naked into the hallway, he moved towards his bedroom, fully intending on getting in bed and sleeping the rest of eternity, when the sound of his cell ringing came from the living room. Pausing midstep, Portugal sighed. He had no reason to not ignore it. He could go ahead and let it ring. Whoever was on the other end could eat a dick for all he cared.

 

Growling, he turned around, moving swiftly to the living room, sidestepping the couch for the side table where his phone sat, the galaga theme playing over and over again. Really it was about damn time for an upgrade. Snatching it up, he hit the call button with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

 

“What the fuck do ya want.” Well, depending on who was on the other end, that might just get him in trouble. Fingers crossed.

 

“Tha’s no way ta say hello, sweetheart!”

 

Somehow this was worse. “I don’t wanna talk right now, Twisted.”

 

Twist spoke on, undeterred. “I jus’ wanted ta invite ya over fer the cookout on Saturday! Yer still comin’, right?”

 

No. He had never planned on going in the first place and Twist knew that well. But If he said so Twist would show up at some ungodly hour Saturday morning to drag him over for his “own wellbeing”. Slumping, he glared at the floor. He really had no choice in the matter. Just like with everything else.

 

“Sure. Now fuck off.”

 

Twist chuckled from the other end. “Sure, sure, see ya then, sweetheart.”

 

Portugal slammed his finger down on the end button, all but throwing his phone across the room and slamming his hands to his mouth. One good scream later and he sagged in place, sockets drooping. Maybe he’d sleep through the next three days and have a decent excuse as to why he didn’t come. He certainly still felt sick enough to pass. Shuffling back to the hall, he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, padding inside and all but flopping on the ratty mattress. 

 

Closing his sockets, he felt the burn of coming tears, the hitch in his breath as he turned over, curling into himself. He wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready for any of this. Sniffling, he shoved his face into his pillow. If he was going to cry he didn’t want his neighbors having the satisfaction of hearing it.

 


	2. Betraying the Self

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's still reading/leaving kudos ^^ I appreciate you :D

Waking up to rays of sunlight in his face was really the most normal, if not infuriating, way he could have woken up that morning. Scrubbing at his sockets, he sat up, scratching at his back and yawning wide before looking over to the clock he’d bought in a moment of weakness. It shined bright blue with the hour, day, and current weather. Eyes bleary, he barely made out the words. It was 10 in the morning, really too early in his opinion. It was Saturday, and it was supposed to be sunny with heavy clouds. 

 

Why did that sound important? Squinting at the clock, he tried to piece it together. It wasn’t the hour, even though he was up a lot earlier than he would normally be on a weekend. The past two days he’d been up at 5 for his job at the office (answering IT shit at 6 in the morning was certainly one way to wake up. Rage always made a decent enough fuel, coffee had just made him jittery the one time he’d tried it). It wasn’t the weather, unless his magic being whacked out included an extra sensitivity to weather (and wouldn’t that be his fucking luck). 

 

Was it the...baby? He almost couldn’t even think the word, even in his own head. He could see his own magic shimmering faintly through the thin fabric of the blanket he’d somehow gotten draped and tangled in his bones the night before. Jaw shifting, he lifted the blanket, staring at the mass of green magic for a whole two seconds before the uncomfortable feeling that always accompanied seeing  _ it  _ was overwhelming enough that he let the blanket fall back over him.

 

Well, it wasn’t necessarily that. Could be that, but he could also just be hungry. It was a little difficult to tell the difference at this point.

 

Glaring at the clock, he tried hard to remember what the hell it was about today that he needed to do. Was he supposed to head in to work? Had he run out of milk? Did he forget to feed his fish? That joke never got old, no matter how much he wanted to punch himself in the face every time he thought it.

 

Huffing a sigh, he stood, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying dizziness that had started up. Slipping off his shirt, he tossed it in the clothes hamper on the other side of the room and stepped out, moving down the hall and into the bathroom.

 

He was halfway through brushing his teeth when it hit him. Sputtering a curse through the foam in his mouth, he rinsed quickly, spitting into the sink and wiping off with a towel before running to the bedroom. His leg was halfway through a pant leg as his phone started ringing, that annoying ass galaga theme screeching from across the room. 

 

“Fuck!” Losing his balance, he fell back on his pelvis, leg sticking up comically as he tried to claw his way back up and onto the bed. Giving up, he laid back, kicking the pants the rest of the way on before crawling to the nightstand. Slamming his hand around, he grabbed the phone, all but tearing out the damn answer button. 

 

“What the fuck do you want!”

 

There was silence on the other end, the background sound of splashing and talking, and a little laughter thrown in for spice the only sign it wasn’t some prank call. Finally, the person on the other end took a breath, and answered. “Twist wanted someone to call and make sure you were still coming.” There was a pause. “Why he is so insistent is beyond me.” And then the line was dead. 

 

Portugal stared at his phone for a moment, then screamed a hearty “Well fuck you too!” before throwing it at the wall opposite. Taking a moment to breathe, he shoved his face in his hands, knuckles curled against his sockets.

 

He’d have to call back and tell Twist he wasn’t coming. That’s all there was to it. None of them wanted him there, he’d make some kind of comment, they would rise to the challenge, and it would turn into a fight. It always did, there was no point in letting it happen again, not even when his own stupid soul wanted it to. He wasn’t in the mood for a set of broken ribs again.

 

Carefully pulling himself up, he sat on the edge of the bed, magic carrying his phone back to his hands with a faint tug on his soul. Rubbing at his sternum, he winced. No more using magic overtly then. Great. Punching in Twist’s number, he listened to the monotone hums of the ringing, closing his sockets. He’d tell him right off that he couldn’t make it. Say he had to go into work or something else believable. Then he’d go stare at a bar until he cried and maybe go lay down in the park or something. He’d figure it out after making this stupid phone call.

 

Three rings later and the call finally picked up, Twist laughing at something Portugal couldn’t see before answering. “Heya, sweetheart! Edge said ya were on yer way, I hope ya brought shorts er somethin’ ta swim in. If not I’m sure I have somethin’ ya can borrow.”

 

Portugal opened his mouth, prepared to give his speech about why he couldn’t show up, how not sorry he was, and that Twist could fuck himself, when Twist continued. 

 

“Oh! And I made sure bro got some of those cheesy chips and sweet pickles you like so much! I made sure no one had any yet, so you can be sure ta get some, so hurry up and come over!”

 

He closed his mouth. Blinked. Then betrayed himself. “Ah’ll be over in a sec’, twisted, don’ get yer panties in twist.”

 

Twist laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Nice one sweetheart. See ya soon!” 

 

Hanging up as the line went dead once more, he let his hands fall to his lap. Great. 

 


	3. Pickles

Why was he here, no one wanted him here, he didn’t even want to be here, he could just turn the key back in the ignition, back out of the driveway, and head back home. It wouldn’t be that hard, just a turn of the key and-

 

“P! I was startin’ ta think you wouldn’ show up, sweetheart.” Twist jogged up to the side of the car, leaning against the hood with both arms. He looked like a dork.

 

Sighing, Portugal unbuckled, opening his door and stepping out, careful to pull down the slightly raised hem of his shirt and pulling his jacket down for good measure. The last thing he needed was for one of these assholes to find out he was pregnant. “Get offa my car, asshole. You’ll scratch up the paint.”

 

Twist chuckled, though he did as he was told, slinging his hands in his pockets. “Ya know where ta go if that happens, sweetheart.” He said with a wink. Portugal stuck out his tongue, ignoring Twist’s laughter as the two of them headed back to the house. It was noisy just walking into the front room, loud laughter and a few yells coming from the back of the house. 

 

He followed Twist into the kitchen, watching as Blackberry moved efficiently through the crowded space, preparing food to be taken outside, it seemed. There were trays of grilled meats, bowls of chips and dip, trays of cheese and vegetables, and an enormous amount of baked goods. From previous experience Portugal avoided anything that looked homemade, grabbing an unopened bag of fiery cheetos and ripping it open, popping one in his mouth and savoring the flavor before glaring at Twist.

 

“Yeah, yeah, thank you er whatever.” Grumpily, he leaned back against the counter, not yet ready to deal with the raucous noise coming from outside (or the bastards making it). Twist certainly didn’t mind, staying next to him and trying to steal food from the various platters, laughing every time Blackberry went to smack him with the small wooden spoon he always kept on his person.

 

He felt the younger brother studying him when he thought he wasn’t paying attention, which, was just something Blackberry did (coming from a fellverse, P understood that more than most). But with his eyes on him, Portugal couldn’t help but feel paranoid that somehow, someway, Blackberry would notice. 

 

It was ridiculous, of course. He wasn’t anywhere near showing, hadn’t even really had any symptoms other than being tired as hell from the new pull on his magic supply. But, other than the ectobody that surrounded his abdomen, there were no signs to show that anything was amiss. So he ignored the glances, eating cheeto after cheeto until Twist felt it was time to head outside.

 

The two twisted brothers carried the food out, a few platters and bowls floating along behind them, P bringing up the rear. He knew the precise moment the others noticed his presence, the laughter quieting except for a few of the others on the other side of the pool. Instead of instigating a fight (that was just what he needed, get his ass beat when he didn’t have the magic to defend himself), he settled into one of the chairs on the far side of the lawn. Soon enough they began to go back to their conversations, ignoring him for the most part, at least until Twist dragged a chair over to sit beside him.

 

“Twisted! Come get in the pool, cool off a bit!” Stretch called out, leaning against the wall of the pool, Edge next to him. It was clear they thought Twist was wasting his time by spending time with him, or that he was putting himself in danger somehow. Like P had ever actually done anything to physically hurt him (or like he even could, even if he tried. He was the smallest Papyrus here, it wasn’t like he was physically threatening). Twist waved them off with a smile, settling back into his chair and looking for all intensive purposes as if he’d fallen asleep. The two in the pool glared at Portugal, eyes narrowing at the middle finger he gave them before shoving a sweet pickle in his mouth. 

 

It was a little more quiet over in the corner of the enclosed yard, so when Twist finally spoke up, Portugal heard every word.

 

“Yer eatin’ like you haven’ had a meal in weeks, P.”

 

He paused mid bite of another pickle, glaring at the other as he stuffed the rest of it in his mouth. “What of it?” His voice was garbled through the layer of mushed pickle, but he knew Twist heard him. He refused to glance over, knowing he’d just see Twist staring back in that stupid, concerned way of his.

 

“‘Ave ya?”

 

“Have I what, ya gotta be a mite more specific, boyo.”

 

Twist grunted. “‘Ave ya been eatin’.”

 

Portugal swallowed the mouthful of pickle mush, fingering around the jar for another. “Yes, I’ve been eating. Don’ see how it’s any o yer business, though.”

 

Twist grunted again, the sound of him settling back into his seat making Portugal relax ever so slightly. The less Twist was interested in whatever he thought was going on, the less likely he was to figure anything out.

 

The next few hours were spent much the same way, Portugal polishing off a few more jars of pickles before he sat, content to sip on a slushie Twist had randomly produced for him. The cool nature of it was a relief in the midday heat, and if he let himself relax just a little more he could just as easily fall asleep. 

 

There was no way he was falling asleep around these assholes. Twist would keep him physically safe (at least, he thought so), but he wasn’t above letting Red or some other bastard draw on his face or some shit. So he stayed awake, dozing in the heat, and listened to the loud talking and splashing from the pool. 


	4. Bitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for throwing up.

The smell of wasted, bitter magic was strong around him, The feeling of the cool porcelain rim of the toilet something to cling to even as his magic roiled harshly in his soul. He was so fucking nauseas, had been for days. He’d looked up a couple of the symptoms of being pregnant online after the third day (it took him nearly an hour to find anything on monster pregnancy), and as it turned out this was completely normal. Fan-fucking-tastic for him.

 

He’d tried eating light for breakfast, needing something to wake him up enough for work, but not even a half hour later here he was, bent over the toilet, hacking up both what little he’d eaten and even what felt and tasted like bile, even though he didn’t have a traditional stomach to have bile from. 

 

Leaning back, he braced against the edge of the toilet, breathing deep and wishing himself better. He had to go to work, there was no not going. If he didn’t go he’d get a concerned call from his boss, and then one from Twist, because somehow those two assholes knew each other and cared more about his well being than he did himself. No, he had to go, to prove both to himself and to any fuckers that thought him weak that he could do this. 

 

First, he needed a shower to get rid of the nasty smell from all his puking. Then he’d get dressed, he’d get in his car, and he’d go the fuck to work...even if he was going to be about a half hour late at this point.

 

~.~

 

Leaning back in his chair, Portugal hung up carefully, slowly, pushing every ounce of his anger to the back of his mind. Any show of volatile emotion would only end in him getting another warning (even if he was sure Charlie wasn’t going to fire him, he didn’t want to test the dude either, it was hard enough getting this job), and would also most likely end up making him throw up again. He’d already been stuck in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes trying his hardest to not throw up, he didn’t need to take more time off his paycheck.

 

There was the sound of footsteps coming up to his cubicle, though instead of passing, they stepped inside, two arms resting on the back of his chair.

 

“So why were you late today, man? Car trouble?” Charlie had one of those voices that just made you relax around him. Portugal had never fallen for it; for as much of a nice guy as he was, Charlie would dump him out of his chair if he thought he needed it.

 

“Naw, had some issues. Won’t let it happen again.” He kept it simple, easy to understand. He had no doubt that his human boss would be very confused if he knew his “male”, skeleton employee was pregnant. There was a sound of contemplation, before Charlie backed off, only to lean on the wall of his cubicle, that familiar look of concern on his face.

 

“What’s up man? You were in the bathroom for half an hour, and last I knew, skeletons don’t shit.”

 

Portugal snorted, then waved him off. “I... felt sick. Threw up a lot this morning, might be a bug.”

 

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. P swallowed. He really hoped the man wasn’t about to be an asshole and send him home, he hadn’t even cussed anyone out today!

 

But then he sighed, shaking his head. “You know your limits better than I do, P. Just make sure you aren’t coming in here with something us humans can catch. Or, y’know, the three other monsters here?”

 

Sighing a laugh, P waved him off. “Trust me, nothin’ anyone ‘ere c’n catch.”

 

Charlie nodded. “Good. I’ll let you get back to work then.” He turned, walking back behind and out into the aisle, but paused. “Oh, and you get off at 2 today. Have fun.”

 

Portugal spun in his chair, ready to argue that his normal shift was three hours longer than that, only to find that his boss was already gone. Flopping back, he groaned. Three whole hours off his paycheck. Though, maybe knowing Charlie they’d be paid, but still, it was the principle of the thing. He wanted to work for his earnings...especially when he knew in another few months he wouldn’t be able to work at all.

 

Ignoring the panic fueled bile that had started to rise in his throat at the thought of all the shit that was yet to come, he grabbed his phone, checked the next message, and hit the numbers in sequence.

 

~.~

 

Sitting in his car, he tapped at his phone, scrolling through media feeds and junk mail to get to the one email he’d kept over the years, the title of it making him feel so very small. He’d gotten it some time after he’d settled in, the email some random string of letters and numbers that clearly meant it was a fake one used just to send him this message. He didn’t open it. He knew what it said, what it would make him feel, how he would end up crying and really he was sick and tired of his emotions getting the better of him. 

 

He’d have enough of that shit in the upcoming months.

 

So instead of putting himself through that, he tapped out of everything, setting his phone on sleep and shoving it in his pocket before stepping out of his car. The lights weren’t on and his door was locked, so no one had broken in, but as soon as he stepped inside the faint smell of spices and broth invaded his senses. Moving carefully through the darkness, Portugal padded into his kitchen, finding the stove light turned on and a large pot of still steaming soup set on the counter, a wrapped loaf of homemade bread beside it. There was a note, signed at the bottom by none other than the stupid asshole with golden magic that was sticking his nose too far into other people’s business. 

 

Sighing, P sat down at the table, skull in hands. Eating any of it was running the chance it was poisoned...and also that he would just throw it up later. But...there was no way Twist wasn’t going to ask. And seeing that slightly disappointed, a little downtrodden look on his face was something Portugal actually didn’t like seeing. Angry, upset, yes. Not vaguely disappointed. 

 

Slapping his face, he got up and started looking for a bowl. At least he’d be able to say he tried.


	5. Company and Shitbeaters

Studying himself in the bathroom mirror, his hand rested on the slight bulge of his thin, white t-shirt. He didn’t think he’d start showing this early, everything he’d found online said monster pregnancies could last from 6 to 12 months, 6 being about the minimum for less fleshy monsters. As a skeleton, he’d assumed that was about what he had; 6 to 7 months of pretty much pure agony before he finally had the kid. But here he was, one month in, just starting to get over the morning sickness finally, and he had a pooch of a stomach. It made his shirt stick out ever so slightly, only barely noticeable if you were looking for it.

 

Swallowing, he stared up into his own eyes, letting the green hue distract him. Thinking about the fact that he was pregnant was still somewhat (very) anxiety inducing, even with the undeniable proof in his own magic. He’d caught himself staring down at the bulge of magic in his shirt ever since the day he’d found out, but he hadn’t yet used his magic to feel out the thing growing inside him. He was honestly too scared to.

 

Lifting his shirt, he studied the small, white, bean sized soul. It was so small, so helpless, and it took so much magic that he often felt lightheaded when moving too quickly. Letting the hem of his shirt drop, he sighed, rubbing vigorously at his face. He was okay, things weren’t falling out of control, he hadn’t let it slip, no one knew but him.

 

Glaring at himself in the mirror, he turned, ready to head back to his room for a well deserved nap (stars, he hated sleeping so much, but having his magic drained like this left him with little to no energy), when there was a loud knocking at the door. Twist’s voice carried through, loud and chipper.

 

“Ya home, darlin’? ‘s Twist!”

 

Panicking, P’s eyelights traveled straight to his shirt, the almost translucent material showing every bit of glow rom his summoned stomach. All but tearing out the bathroom door, he threw a “Gimmie a sec!” behind him before scraping past the doorframe of his bedroom. He didn’t even bother taking off the shirt he was wearing already, simply pulling open his closet and throwing on the first thick sweater he saw. Pulling the hem down, he carefully,  _ thoroughly  _ studied his appearance, only remembering the reason he was so damn flustered when Twist called out again.

 

“I know yer home! Shitbeater’s in the drive!”

 

Growling, Portugal pulled harder on the sweater, stomping through down the hall and to the front door, throwing it open with the mightiest glare he could muster. Twist just grinned happily, shifting the thirteen paper bags he seemed to be holding and pushing his way into the house. “Thank ya, darlin’, these’re startin’ ta get heavy.” 

 

Portugal stood in the open doorway, eye socket twitching, before he finally blinked and hurriedly shut and locked the door, spinning around and catching the sight of the hem of Twist’s coat as it disappeared around the corner of his kitchen door. Almost running, he sprinted to the kitchen, only to find Twist setting the bags down before unbagging random groceries.

 

He must have stood there, slack jawed for long enough that Twist was staring at him, concern in his eyelights. “You okay over there, sweetheart?”

 

P opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Closed his eyes and covered his face. Then, “Why‘re there fifty bags o shit in my kitchen.”

 

Twist chuckled, the sound of the brown paper bags crinkling once more making him clench his hands against his sockets. “I got ya groceries.” He said it like it was obvious, like P was silly for asking. Like nothing about this was strange or out of place or insinuated that he knew something was off about him, even if he didn’t know what, exactly.

 

For a brief moment, P didn’t know whether to be touched or pissed.

 

“Okay, I’ll rephrase.  _ Why  _ did ya get me groceries.”

 

The crinkling stopped and Portugal glanced up, finding Twist staring hard at him. It was a searching stare, one that made him feel as if he was being observed, examined, judged. He did not like it.

 

“Yer not eatin’. So, ‘m makin’ sure ya don’t have tha excuse that ya don’ have food.” And that was that, apparently, as Twist went back to unpacking the different food items with a bland smile. Portugal stared at him, trying to not gape. The bastard had even picked mostly his favorites, there being three bags of cheetos and at least four jars of pickles. There were also a lot of healthier, more wholesome choices, but that was just how Twist operated.

 

Finally, his emotions starting to come to a boil, he turned and walked out of the room, pausing at the door to whisper a “th’nk ya…” before continuing on, falling onto the couch and curling into a ball. He felt like crying, a heaviness settling in his chest that was so familiar it was unfamiliar. He almost wanted to cry just to get rid of the sensation, but he couldn’t. Not while Twist was in the other room, able to hear every noise he made.

 

He wasn’t even really sure why he felt this emotional. Twist was being his usual nosy, annoying self, but...no one had ever cared so much that he ate. No one had ever gone out of their way to make sure he had enough to eat, or that he was okay. He was sure most of this was hormones making him way more emotional about this than he would ever normally be, but still the intense feelings remained. He was grateful, but at the same time he was afraid.

 

He would never admit to the tear or two that escaped his sockets, cooling as the fell down his face. 

 

There were steps up to the back of the couch, a light weight leaning against the side as Twist looked down at him, arms crossed. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what was wrong, if he was okay, and Portugal was glad he didn’t. What could he say that wouldn’t sound like a load of bullshit, that wouldn’t sound like a lie. He had no cover story, no plan. If Twist asked, he had no out, other than to say nothing at all.

 

But, to his credit, Twist didn’t ask. He settled on the couch beside him, rested his hand on Portugal’s folded legs, and turned on the shitty TV, switching to some stupid documentary about space. 

 

For once...he didn’t mind the company.


	6. Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Miscarriage Scare

Twist started showing up regularly, after that. He almost always brought food, soups and homemade bread and pastries that Blackberry would send along. Portugal has hard pressed to trust any of it at first, knowing the berry’s...previous history. But after making Twist try a little of everything the first few times (and carefully watching for any adverse side effects), he finally started eating whatever Twist brought over. 

 

He’d thrown it up more times than he’d like to count, but luckily Twist had never been present for one of those moments. Today, though, bowl of stew in his hands, the smell of onion and garlic wafting up into his face, Portugal knew without a doubt that Twist would be here for this one.

 

He barely had enough time to all but throw the bowl on the table and run head over heels into the bathroom when it hit. For the next several minutes he was hunkered over the toilet, once again, the taste of bitter magic making him gag all the more. There was a small, soothing pressure at his back, what felt like a hand on his shoulder. Great, now Twist would be even more in his business about seeing a healer and all that shit.

 

He’d finally calmed down, breaths ragged, when a small cup of what he assumed was water was lowered in front of his face. He took it with shaky hands, rinsing the nasty taste out of his mouth before spitting it back into the toilet. Once the taste was mostly gone, he sipped at it, leaning back into Twist’s hold almost subconsciously. 

 

There was a low sigh, before Twist took the cup, setting it on the sink and lifting him up under his shoulders and knees. Portugal tapped random patterns into his shirt as he walked, slowly swaying back and forth with each step. There was the sound of his bedroom door opening, then the slow steps of sock over carpet as Twist moved over to his bed, laying him down and covering him up to his neck. 

 

Twist was staring down at him, the look filled with concern and unspoken worries, but Portugal turned over, letting the look roll over him. “Don’ need a healer.”

 

There was the feeling of Twist sitting on the edge of his bed, a hand resting on the small of his back. “Yer not well, sweetheart. Ya don’ eat, an’ when ya do ya throw it up not a minute later.”

 

Burying his face into his pillow, Portugal growled. “‘m not seein’ a damn healer, Twist. No means no.” He hoped the bastard would leave it at that, let him suffer in silence, let him wallow in his misery until this damn phase finally passed, but knowing Twist it was like hoping for a million dollars to just rain from the sky.

 

“If ya don’ want ta see a healer fine, at least let one a us, check ya. Yer HP can’t be doin’ well, missin’ all this magic.”

 

No, that would be worse, so much worse. If they saw his magic levels, how strangely they were dropping and rising, they would force him to see a healer. He would have no excuse at that point, no real reason to say no other than that he was a stubborn bastard himself. 

 

Instead of talking he shook his head, curling into a ball in a bid to protect himself from any unwanted checks. It was a callback to when he was a child, the feeling of trying to pull away, both physically and mentally, as his brother checked him to make certain he wasn’t about to fall down so familiar it made him want to throw up again. Instead, he pulled further away, pulling the blankets up and over his head.

 

Twist tried to say something else, but the words were lost in the barrier of dingy cotton, Portugal successfully blocking out whatever meaningful sentiment he was trying to share. There was silence, after that, before the slight weight on the side of the bed lifted, the faint sound of his door closing following. He tried to tell himself that he was relieved, that it didn’t matter in the long run, as long as no one found out. 

 

It didn’t make the loneliness he felt almost the instant the door closed fade. But he could blame both that and the damn guilt he felt on the stupid hormones messing up his magic. Ignoring the way his sockets burned, he curled further into his blankets, determined to not think about it.

 

Eventually it was too much, his emotions running rampant in his mind and soul, so he got up, threw on a jacket, and hopped in his car. The roads were fairly empty this time of evening, though the parking lot to the bar he frequented was full, the day shift getting off and ready to relax. He sat in his car, hands gripping the steering wheel, wishing nothing more than that he could go inside and get a damn drink or ten. 

 

He’d never forgive himself. Not if the kid ended up fucked up because of him. Or if, Angel forbid, they were to-

 

His hand shot up over his mouth as he tried to banish the thought from his mind, and in his momentary distress he didn’t hear the tapping against the glass of his window. Startled, he glanced out with his best glare, only to blanche on the inside as the grinning faces of some humans stared back. He knew a couple of them; they’d had this song and dance a few different times. 

 

“‘Ey, there, P! Why don’cha hop out, let a man have a few words?”

 

He hated the way they said his nickname, hated them and their stupid asshole faces and before he knew what he’d done he was out of the car, decking the main guy in the jaw. His sockets widened as he found himself out of the safety of his locked car, his stance becoming defensive as the three other guys locked eyes on him, anger seething from every pore. Why did he get out of the car, why did he always do this to himself, he couldn’t fight back they would kill him they would kill the kid-

 

He wheezed, finding himself on the ground, jaw aching and arms and knees wrapped tightly around his stomach. He had to keep the kid safe, no matter what happened, even as they jeered, even as they spat and dumped beer over his head, even as glass shattered and feet crashed into his spine. His vision started to go, black taking over the edges and slowly, slowly, he didn’t feel the pain any more. Just before he finally blacked out, he felt one of the weights on his back lift, a scream sounding. 

 

But he just didn’t have it in him to care. Not anymore.

 


	7. Out of the Bag

Waking up was one of the most painful things he’d done in a while. His entire body ached, especially his spine. It felt as if a few vertebrae had popped out of place, but had been reset and healed a few times. He tried turning over to get off his back, only to find that the rest of his body was so sore that moving took more of a toll than it was worth. Groaning, he forced himself onto his side, sockets blinking open bearily as he tried to figure out where the hell he was. 

 

The room was unfamiliar, the blankets scratchy and the walls painted a mellow pink. There was a small tray with a mug of still steaming liquid and what looked like a wet rag spotted with green. He winced, wondering where he’d been bleeding from as he slowly lifted himself into a seated position. What’d happened the night before? He felt like he did when he got himself beat to shit, but he was pregnant, it would have been so stupid if he had gotten himself in a situation where the kid could have gotten hurt, or worse…

 

He clutched at his head, trying so desperately to remember what the hell’d happened, if he’d done anything that utterly stupid, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t even remember what he’d done after Twist had left the day before, even though he knew he hadn’t fallen asleep. What the hell happened?

 

He startled as the door on the other side of the room opened, Twist stepping inside before shutting the door behind him. He was just wearing a tank top and a pair of short, the change from his jacket he never seemed to take off a bit jarring. Twist paused in front of the bed, looking him up and down with a strange, almost emotionless stare. 

 

“Yer awake.” His voice was terse, the undercurrent of some other strong emotion making Portugal think he might not be out of trouble yet. 

 

“I am.” He had no idea what to say, no idea what to ask. Thankfully, Twist spoke again.

 

“Do ya remember last night?”

 

Something about the way he said it made a pit drop in Portugal’s chest, his soul constricting in fear. What if he’d gotten in a fight, what if he’d hurt the kid? His hands went almost subconsciously to his still summoned stomach, the motion paused as he realized Twist was still staring at him. 

 

“They’re okay, if that’s what yer worried about.”

 

He blanched, face going pale, as Twist continued. “Now, mind tellin’ me what the fuck you thought you were doin’ gettin’ in a tussle when yer pregnant?”

 

So he had gotten in a fight. He’d done something so damn stupid, and now Twist knew. Hiding his face in his hands, he choked on his breath, sockets burning as tears welled up, the sheer magnitude of the shit he’d apparently pulled hitting him all at once. He began to sob into his hands, breath hitching and chest burning with the effort, his soul pulsing with pain in his chest. He would never be able to forgive himself. Never be able to live with himself. 

 

Arms wrapped around him, drawing him into a strong, stable chest. Before long the slow, even breaths were easily mimicked, Portugal finally getting back his breath as Twist pulled him into his lap, holding him close.

 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You didn’t get real hurt, an’ the kid’s still kickin’. Here, see?” A hand wrapped around his own, guiding it down to his belly, a pulse of magic going through and a much smaller, weaker one responding. “Feisty and grumpy, jus’ like their carrier.”

 

Portugal huffed, though he left his hand in Twist’s hold, relaxing into his chest. “If I asked, would ya tell me what happened?”

 

Twist hummed to himself, staring out the window. “Already took care a it, darlin’. Now, ya think you c’n make it downstairs, or ya need a lil’ help?”

 

Wiggling out of Twist’s hold, P slid to the edge of the bed, holding in any grunts of pain as he lifted himself into a standing position, holding onto the edge of the bed for support. He took a few steps on his own power, but the pain quickly became too much. He paused to catch his breath, only to yelp as Twist scooped him up, moving fluidly across the room and out the door.

 

Portugal flipped him off, though he curled further into his hold as Twist chuckled, padding down the hall and down the stairs of what was apparently the Twist brother’s house. The smell of fresh waffles drifted through, the smell becoming stronger as Twist moved past the living room and into the kitchen. Setting him down gently at the table, Twist started plating him up what looked to be a fully loaded breakfast. Waffles, little round sausages, a pile of eggs, and even a small pickle on the side, as well as a small glass of chocolate milk. 

 

Both were set in front of him, Twist settling into a chair on the other side of the table with a glass of what smelled like coffee. 

 

“If ya need ta run to the bathroom at any point, jus’ let me know.” Twist winked, taking a sip of his coffee as he nodded down at the breakfast. Portugal nodded, still numb from breaking down, though he looked around, confused.

 

“Where’s yer brother? Was a mite sure he’d be upset at all this.”

 

Twist frowned, staring down into his cup as he swirled the contents, and shrugged. “He was upset. Thinks you were stupid fer gettin’ in a fight and thinks I’m silly fer still carin’. He took off ta spend tha day at Blue’s.”

 

Portugal’s sockets widened, then shut. He was nothing but trouble, nothing but a punching bag, he wasn’t worth anyone caring about him, he couldn’t even keep the damn kid safe-

 

A hand gripped the underside of his chin, lifting it up so he was eye to eye with a very serious Twist. “I don’ care what’s goin’ through yer head right now, but none a it’s true. Ya hear me?”

 

Portugal blinked, then nodded, watched as Twist nodded in return and moved back to his seat, sipping again at his drink. 

 

“Go ahead an’ eat, we got places ta be.”

 

He blinked, then obeyed. After what Twist had done for him, he really had no room to refuse. 

 


	8. Doc

“C’mon, darlin’, it won’t be so bad.” Twist was guiding him through the house and out the front door, patiently removing his fingers from their grip on the edge of the door frame and nudging him along even as he tried to stay in place. 

 

“Yer not the one ‘ose pregnant, fucko! Lemme back inside!” Portugal was trying his very best with the limited energy he’d woken up with to fight against the bastard all but forcing him down the sidewalk to the nearby bus stop. Twist had woken him up that morning with a promise that if he got dressed and generally ready they’d go to his favorite diner for breakfast. Portugal had a weakness for said diner’s biscuits and gravy, so he’d agreed in his half asleep state, not really thinking about the consequences of such an agreement.

 

Twist had revealed not a minute after he’d stepped downstairs ready to leave that they had somewhere else to go first. It hadn’t been a hard deduction to guess where, Twist had been on his case about seeing a doctor for a week.

 

“The sooner we get done with yer appointment, P, the soon we c’n go get breakfast! It’s a win-win, sweetheart.”

 

Portugal huffed, throwing all of his weight back and cursing as Twist just caught him and used the momentum to push him further down the road. “Win-win fer who? I told ya I’m fine, right as rain, absolutely spiffy!”

 

Twist scoffed. “If that were true, ya wouldn’ be throwin’ up every lil’ thing ya eat, an’ crampin’ all through the night, an’-”

 

“I’m fine! I looked that shite up, it’s just symptoms!”

 

Twist huffed, though he stopped mid push, letting Portugal turn around to look at him. “I jus’ want ta make sure.”

 

There was a genuine insistence in his eyes, a concern and care Portugal was entirely unused to, even from Twist. He had the feeling if he really pushed it now, Twist would let him go back home, but he would be worried, disappointed, and would act sullen the rest of the day. Groaning, defeated, he turned and started walking to the bus stop, shoulders hunched up by the sides of his skull.

 

Twist was a step behind him, happiness radiating off of him. Portugal tried to not let the grin that was trying to betray him get any farther than turning up the corners of his mouth. He doubted Twist had seen anyways. But he didn’t want him to get any ideas.

 

~.~

 

The waiting room was inviting enough, but Portugal couldn’t get the tight feeling around his soul to loosen up. Twist had taken his hand between his own after they’d started trembling, gently massaging them and radiating care and protection. They wouldn’t do anything that could hurt him, or the kid, and if they tried Twist would take care of it. He’d be there the whole time, and if P needed a break, he’d make sure he got it.

 

Not that Twist actually said any of this, but Portugal had a very distinct feeling he would do all of that and more if he thought it was needed. 

 

“Portugal?” A nurse stood at a now open door, clipboard in her hands and a smile on her face. He stood up, nervous, but as Twist stood next to him he found the strength to walk forward and follow her into the hall behind the door.

 

“You’re here for a checkup, correct? Pregnancy concerns?” She was quick speaking and clinical, but Portugal found he preferred it to trying to tell him everything was alright. 

 

“Yeah, needed ta ask some questions.” His voice was no more than a mumble, but she picked it up easily. Writing something down on the clipboard, she nodded to a small white box that sat on the floor, hooked up to an LED screen. 

 

“Just stand on that, we need to get your weight.”

 

He stared at it for a moment, looking back at an encouraging Twist, before carefully stepping onto the box, holding onto the metal pole on the wall for balance. The screen lit up, then displayed a set of numbers that he guessed was his weight, as the nurse wrote them down then nodded to a measuring stick on the wall. 

 

“Stand beside that, straight as you can, and I’ll get your height.”

 

He did as he was told, head straight over his shoulders, no longer slumping, and waited as she measured him and wrote down those numbers as well. Once she was finished she lead them to a room, setting the clipboard down on the desk before walking back to the door. “The doctor will be in with you in a few minutes. Have a nice day, you two.” And with that, she left, closing the door behind her.

 

Portugal released a breath, slumping over in his chair. Twist chuckled, leaning over to  gently pat his arm. 

 

“See? That wasn’ so bad. Jus’ a couple tests, a couple questions, and then we’re out and ready fer food.” Twist smiled, seemingly happy that Portugal was actually doing this, and not for the first time he wondered why he cared so much.

 

Squinting at the signs on the wall that were just close enough to give him trouble, he gave up after a moment, wondering if he’d been able to slip on his glasses without Twist noticing. Just when he’d started to decide that it was worth it, to stave off the growing anxiety he felt, there was a knock at the door and it swung open, a bird monster walking through with a warm smile on their face. 

 

“Oh! Skeletons! Haven’t seen many of you around, have we?” He chuckled to himself as he set on the small rolling chair, pulling himself up to the small counter the nurse had set the clipboard on. “I’m Dr. Preen, nice to meet you both.” he said as he read over it, mouth open, before turning to look Portugal up and down.

 

“Pregnant, ah? Don’t suppose you’re the father?” He looked to Twist, only to chuckle as Twist shook his head, a little embarrassed. He slipped on his glasses, still smiling as he read through the notes again. “Your weight is normal for a skeleton, height really doesn’t matter much but they require us to check it...ah, you’ve been having difficulties eating daily and sleeping at night. Is that right?”

 

He looked up again and Portugal nodded, still embarrassed that he’d thought Twist was the sire. The doctor nodded in return, setting down the clipboard and scooting a little closer to him. “Do you mind if I take a quick look?”

 

He did, but really what he minded was this whole experience, what was letting some stranger look at the kid really going to hurt. Shakily, he raised up his shirt, the doctor chirping lightly once as he gently set his fingers on his belly. A pulse of magic went through him, the same one he remembered from before answering. Nodding to himself, seemingly satisfied, the doc rolled back to the counter, writing down a few more notes. 

 

“Well, I can tell ya they’re healthy, and they seem to be getting enough magic from you as of right now.” He paused, and looked Portugal over carefully. “But you aren’t. Can tell by the color of your eyes.” He nodded to himself, writing down more notes. “I can prescribe you some supplements that will get your magic back up to snuff until the morning sickness passes completely. Which should be soon, as you’re what, a month and a half along?”

 

“Two months.” He let his hand rest on his stomach as the doctor spoke, his anxiety slowly ebbing away.

 

The other nodded. “I thought as much. Since you’re that far along, the nausea and cramping should stop within a week or two. After that you’ll need to watch what you’re eating and exercise regularly, to stay healthy.” He finished writing whatever it was he needed to get down, then turned to look Portugal in the eye. “You’ll need to start coming in for regular checks, we need to keep an eye on your magic levels and on how the child develops.”

 

Portugal sent a glare over to Twist, who was conveniently enraptured by a poster on the wall. Sighing, he nodded, the doctor smiling happily as he started to go over what supplements he was prescribing and what each of them did, including possible side effects. 

 

He’d better get some damn good breakfast after this.


	9. Bookworm

He stared hard at the mirror, hand resting on the outward swell of his stomach, his mouth turned down in a grimace. There was no getting around it, he was officially fat. Which, it didn’t really bother him as much as it might have bothered someone like Edge or Cash, but he still didn’t like the imbalance he felt on a nearly constant basis, having so much sudden weight on his front. If he wore a baggy enough sweater he could just barely hide the fact that he was pregnant, but with how warm it’d been Twist hadn’t let him do that in a while. 

 

It was sheer, light t-shirts and shorts or Twist wouldn’t let him out of the house. And while being in his thickest, largest sweater and going outside was near death, he still didn’t like going places without it. 

 

There was a faint knock at the door, Twist standing just outside, apparently. “Yer about done in there, sweetheart?” They were supposed to go out to the library today. Portugal had gone stir crazy sitting on the couch downstairs, unable to do little more than watch TV or make something in the kitchen, so Twist had suggested it. At first it seemed like a good idea; he’d get himself a week’s worth of reading material, maybe even a couple movies, and then he’d be set. Until he remembered that leaving meant making it obvious to anyone who saw him that he was weak and hindered by the magic mass taking up his spinal cavity. 

 

So he’d told Twist nevermind, that he wasn’t interested, and went back to glaring at the TV.

 

Twist had sighed, then told him that if he came with, Twist would get him some ingredients to make an actual meal, whatever he wanted. It was more tantalizing than it had any right to be; he’d finally gotten over the damn morning sickness a few weeks ago, eating no longer a hassle. He missed real food, enough that he finally, grumpily accepted.

 

Pulling the hem of his shirt down as far as it would go, he glared as it slowly raised back up, stubborn. Rolling his eyes, he moved to the door, giving himself one last side glance before opening it and walking past a grinning Twist.

 

“Been waitin’ fer you, bastard. Let’s get this over with.”

 

He marched down the stairs, hating the way he was a little out of breath once he got to the bottom, and padded down the hall to the front room. He grabbed his jacket and slipped it on, hoping Twist wouldn’t notice. Going to open the door, Twist clucked behind him, Portugal slumping in place and allowing the other to take it back off, glaring as he hung it back on the hook.

 

“s’way too hot outside fer coats, darlin’, you know that.” Twist smiled sympathetically, then nudged him towards the door. Portugal gave him a mighty glare, then walked out on his own power, trying very hard to hide the way his arms wanted to immediately wrap around his stomach. Sweat poured down his skull and neck, not all of it from the oppressive heat. 

 

The bus ride was well enough (if he ignored the three or so other people that could see him), the bus itself actually having air conditioning for a change, but as soon as they stepped out it was a wave of heat, almost trying to push them back in. The five minute walk from the bus stop to the library was hell, Portugal nearly panting from the exertion as they stepped inside. Twist lead him over to a cool, leather chair just inside, sitting him down carefully. 

 

“Are ya okay, P? Didn’ realize it’d affect ya this much.” He was worried, concerned, completely genuine in his efforts, and Portugal wanted to do nothing more than slap him. Slowly gaining back his breath, he gazed around the nearly empty library. The isolation was a balm to his overworked nerves. 

 

“I’m fine, jus’...a lil’ overheated.”

 

Twist looked surprised at the honesty, but quickly schooled his expression back into something more knowing. “Yeah, I’d say so, yer all blushin’ green.” He grinned cheesily as P slapped his hands to his face, glaring up at him. “s’alright, darlin’, ya look good like that.”

 

With that Twist left to find some kind of disposable bookbag, leaving Portugal to sit and stew on what he’d said. Surely he didn’t mean that, of course Twist was one of the best monster’s he’d ever met, had a heart of gold, genuinely cared about him. But not like that! No one could ever care about him like that!

 

He looked down to find his hands shaking, his stress levels more than peaked from the day. Gripping the edge of the seat, he took long, careful, deep breaths, calming himself back to a normal enough level. He was okay. Twist hadn’t meant anything by it, he was just being...Twist. Even if he did mean something by it, he hadn’t acted like he wanted a response of any kind, so it wasn’t really serious. He was okay.

 

He’d finally gotten to a manageable level of mental clarity when Twist returned, a pair of plastic bags hanging from his arm. Taking the offered hand, he stood, holding onto Twist as he legs wobbled at first, then taking his bag and moving along until he found the genre section he wanted. Twist followed as well, getting books that were too high up, or down too low. In the end he’d gotten 12 books, nothing he’d ever read before and looked interesting enough. If they weren’t, there was always next week, or he could convince Twist to return it and get something random. 

 

Twist was watching him with a strange expression as he checked out, the look remaining even as they left the library and headed for the bus stop. Back out in the heat, Portugal’s patience faded fast.    
  
“Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that.”

 

Twist snorted. “Jus’ wonderin’.”

 

He frowned. “Wonderin’ what, exactly.”

 

There it was. That mischievous smile that made Portugal feel funny things. Thing he never ever thought about. 

 

“Jus’ wonderin’ if yer plannin’ on usin’ yer glasses or if yer gonna squint a whole lot and bein intolerable fer the rest of the week.”

 

Portugal gaped, mouth open, then closed, then open. Then, as the bus pulled up, he shut it with a click, stepping on quickly and ignoring the fact that his face was once again warming up. Instead of answering, he flipped him the finger, also ignoring the stupid chuckle that followed.


	10. Lapping Water

The cool water lapped around his ever growing stomach, the weight of it so much lighter than it’d been to the point that he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to get out. His sockets were closed as he savored the feel of the chilly water against his still over warmed bones, though they popped open as the sound of feet skittering on the plastic stairs sounded from the side of the pool. He turned his back to the resulting splash, grumbling lightly to himself as his back and skull were pelted with a wave of water. 

 

Twist popped back out of the depths with a grin, water running down his skull in rivulets. “Enjoyin’ the water, P? Feel’s pretty nice in this weather, I think.” He guided his magic to bring two bottles of iced tea over, the tea homemade and put in metal bottles with caps so the chlorine water wouldn’t get inside. Portugal took his gratefully, taking a large swig before relaxing back into the pool, Twist putting his drink back in the shade on one of the tables.

 

“It’s nice, I guess.” It was more than nice, but after the incident at the library, he didn’t want Twist thinking anything absurd. Letting himself sink a bit, he sighed as the water lapped just under his chin, the top of his skull burning lightly under the bright sun. If he had skin he was sure it would be burned, but as it was if he stayed under it for too long his bones would just be a little more brittle than usual for a while. 

 

Twist was paddling around, a faux attempt at swimming for a monster that was unable to do so, before he finally paddled up to Portugal’s side, wide grin on his face.

 

P’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

 

Twist looked up at his innocently, before gesturing to his stomach. “Ya mind if I feel? Maybe?”

 

His first, almost knee jerk response was a resounding no. But, seeing the actual innocent curiosity in his eyelights, and the way he was very carefully staying just out of his space, Portugal sighed and nodded. “Jus’ no...no poking.”

 

Twist chuckled, eyelights bright as he moved a little closer, still not in his face but close enough that he could reach out and touch him easily. “Got it, sweetheart. No pokin’.”

 

Portugal almost gasped at the sudden hand on his stomach, Twist pulling back before he took his hand and brought it back. Twist studied his face, making sure this was alright, before gently lifting the shirt he was swimming in (one of Twist’s), revealing his glowing, green belly. The soulling inside of it was swaying back and forth gently, pulsing with its own light. The magic around it was starting to become cloudy, meaning the kid’s body was going to start forming soon. 

 

The thought of it was...anxiety inducing. The doctor had warned him in his last, forced visit that there would be a lot of kicking, nudging, and general movement that would most likely be unpleasant at the best of times. He was...not looking forward to it, to say the least. 

 

Twist hands, though, were almost pleasant as they gently gripped and massaged his magic, a few pulses of magic going through and a few answering, weaker but undeniably there. Portugal closed his eyes under the treatment, trusting that Twist wouldn’t try anything, not while he was weak and vulnerable like this. 

 

A small sound caught his attention though, his eyes slitting open to find Twist looking up at him with...Portugal wasn’t even sure what to qualify that emotion as. Happiness? Affection? Whatever it was, he was not currently emotionally equipped to handle it and pushed Twist’s hands of his stomach, standing up a little. 

 

“Think I’m done, wanna take a nap.” He started for the stairs, not daring to look back and see that disappointed look on Twist’s face at his rebuttal of whatever that look had been. Carefully stepping onto the stairs, he started to lift himself out, only to nearly fall backwards as the full weight of his water drenched clothes and his stomach hit him all at once. A pair of arms caught him, Twist carrying him up the steps and back down the other side with a little touch of magic to make things easier.

 

“I swear if you drop me-” His terrified threat was cut off by a very exuberant Twist. 

 

“Not gonna drop ya sweetheart, jus’ hold on and we’ll get ya dry an’ ready fer bed.” 

 

Portugal was forced to get out of his drenched clothing, every layer plopping on the ground with a heavy, wet thump. Then he was forced to endure as Twist toweled him down, seemingly trying to make up for whatever had happened in the pool. Then he was wrapped in a bathrobe and carried inside, Twist padding through the kitchen and up the stairs without a second thought. 

 

Once he was in some comfortable, dry clothing, Twist helped him to the bed, helping him curl on his side, the most comfortable position he’d found so far with such a large stomach, before draping one of the sheets over him. 

 

“Sleep well, darlin’, I’ll be downstairs if ya need me.” Twist paused, looked down at him, before leaning down and pressing his teeth to the top of his skull. Portugal blinked, watching him as he left, closing the door behind him, before slapping his hands to his face, a bright emerald blush lighting up his skull.

 

Instead of letting himself think about it, he forced his eyes shut until he’d just started to drift off, when the sound of heated talking came from the hall just outside his room. One voice sounded like Twist, seemingly placating the other voice. It was another Papyrus, but that was the only thing he could discern. Eyes wide and breaths uneven, he huddled down further into his sheet, fear making his magic flare a little. But the voices eventually faded out, whoever it was apparently moving back downstairs, Twist following. 

 

It should have made him feel better, knowing Twist was protecting him.

 

It didn’t.

 


	11. Trust

Twist didn’t tell him who had been there, once he’d gotten up from his “nap”. He didn’t even act like anyone had been over, only looking up from his current show he’d been marathoning with a giant grin on his face, asking if he wanted to try out the new Thai place on 3rd. Portugal, still shook up from the near...whatever it was, just nodded. Twist didn’t seem to notice his mood, hopping up and pausing his show before guiding him to the door.

 

Portugal was quiet the entire bus ride, hands carefully, protectively resting over his stomach. His mind was running at a mile a minute, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do in light of this. Was he supposed to confront Twist about it? Should he get angry, defensive, and demand to know who it was and what the hell they wanted? That was his knee jerk reaction, but something inside of him told him that might not be the correct path.

 

So, for the days that followed, he didn’t mention it. Didn’t mention the late night visits, the random ass phone calls that Twist always took in another room, or the general feeling of discomfort that was quickly choking out what little safety he’d felt living under Twist’s roof. He was feeling more and more defensive, hunted, never getting enough sleep at night for fear that someone would storm in and he would be caught without a defense. 

 

Finally, one day, sitting on the couch with a load of laundry piled up beside him, Twist reclining in the sofa chair across from him, he had enough. The shirt in his hands nearly tearing as his grip tightened, his sockets clenching shut as all of it fell over him in overwhelming waves of anxiety and fear. Tearing his eyes open at the small sound of splitting cloth, he gently set the shirt to the side, clearing his throat.

 

“If I need ta head back ta my apartment, I can.”

 

Twist was staring at him, Portugal could feel his stare, but he didn’t look up to see his expression. He didn’t want to see any knowing anger that might have been there to see.

 

“Is...is there a reason ya think ya need ta?” 

 

Now he did look up, catching a slightly hurt, but mostly confused look from Twist. Portugal opened his mouth, shut it. “I...yer getting bothered. Cause I’m here.”

 

Twist’s confusion seemed to deepen, before realization dawned and he scowled down at the phone sitting on the side table. “Should’a figured ya’d notice.” He sighed, looking almost sheepish as he leaned forward, leaning his arms on his knees. “The others’ve been...worried. ‘Bout ya bein’ here alone wit’ me.” There was the slightest tinge of anger in his voice as he said it. Portugal knew the sentiment well.

 

“They really think I’m, what, just livin’ here ta hurt you?” He was appalled. For one thing he doubted he could really hurt Twist in any physical way anyways, and that was a fairly well known fact. Emotionally, sure, he’d done it before, would probably do it again, but never to Twist. He’d only ever tried it once, when they’d first met, and he’d never let himself even consider it again. Not that any of them were privy to his inner thoughts, thank the stars.

 

Twist huffed. “They think yer takin’ advantage of my “good graces”-” he made finger quotes as he spoke, “and stayin’ here ta hide out or some shit.” He rolled his eyes, leaning back into his chair. “I’ve told ‘em off a couple times, but I ‘aven’t told them why yer actually here.” Twist gave him a look filled with understanding and Portugal felt his hands unclench from his pant legs as he relaxed. 

 

Letting himself sit back into the cushion of the couch, he covered his face with his hands, rubbing vigorously at the bone around his sockets. “Should I jus’ tell them then? Get the assholes off yer back at least.” He suggested it even as a pit settled in his stomach at the thought. He didn’t want any of them to know. Not a single one of them. But if it would help Twist… Trying to tell himself he didn’t care wasn’t working as well as it once had. He couldn’t  _ not  _ care anymore, not after how much Twist had done to take care of him, and would do still. If Twist wanted him to tell the others...he’d try.

 

Twist was staring at him with a strange expression, something Portugal was fairly sure he’d never seen before. Not directed at him anyway. After a moment of silence, Twist shook his head.

 

“Ain’ none of their business.” And with that he turned back to the TV, watching the game show once more. Portugal stared at him a long moment, an undefinable emotion welling up in him, before he turned back to the laundry. It was settled then. He was...safe, for now. 


	12. Rudeness

Huffing as sweat beaded over the back of his skull, Portugal pushed himself up and off the couch, one hand holding his bulging stomach, the other holding tight to the edge of the arm as he tried to keep his balance and not fall back into comfortable oblivion. Waddling as well as he could, he shuffled into the slippers set by the door, unwilling for whoever was still rudely knocking to see his bare feet.

 

Growling, he looked through the peephole, rolling his eyes before opening the door with a flair. Blackberry stood on the other side, simple, fake smile on his face even as he lowered the still raised hand to his side. 

 

“What do ya need now, Berry.”

 

Blackberry’s grin tightened. “I do believe I can enter my own home whenever I want to, Portugal.” His name was spoken like a reprimand, P glaring for a second before letting his expression fall back into apathy, stepping back to let him in.

 

“Whatever ya say.” Leaning back, he called further into the house. “Twisted! Yer brother’s here!”

 

He didn’t bother sticking around for whatever it was Blackberry was here to say, passing Twist as he bounded into the room and moving slowly down the hallway to his new bedroom. Making the journey up and down the stairs had proved way too difficult after his stomach had gotten so big, his energy sapped near completely by the kid in his belly. 

 

Closing the door firmly behind him, he waddled over to the bed, flopping down with a prolonged groan, hand pressed into the small of his back. Pain throbbed through his spine and pelvis, the added weight such a large change that he sweared, not for the first time, that he’d go celibate if it meant never going through this again. Turning over to his side, he fiercely grabbed the long body pillow he’d bought after reading tips on the internet, bringing one leg over the side and hugging the thing to his body.

 

After laying there for nearly half an hour the pain finally started to abate, leaving a faint throbbing in his bones that never really went away no matter what he did. He didn’t turn to look as the door clicked open, footsteps leading to the side of the bed where Twist stared down at him, faint grin on his face.

 

“If yer gonna stare at me, make yerself useful, fucko.” Portugal groused, pushing his face into the pillow so Twist couldn’t see him like this. Anymore than he already had, at least. Twist huffed a laugh, though he knelt down and started massaging his bones, Portugal sighing in relief as the tense feeling slowly leached away, leaving him feeling loose and a little more relaxed than he had been for a while.

 

“What did yer brother want this time.”

 

Twist didn’t answer for a long minute, keeping his gentle, firm movements consistent. Then, huffing a breath, he moved down to P’s feet, gently tweaking his tarsals. “Wanted ta get a few a his things. Said he’s gonna stay wit’ Blue fer a little while longer.”

 

Portugal scowled into his pillow, willing away the burning tears that formed out of the stupid swell of shame he felt. Twist wouldn’t ever blame him for his brother’s essentially moving out, at least not to his face, but he couldn’t help but feel that, if he’d just kept himself from being a fuckin’ idiot he wouldn’t be in this mess. Twist wouldn’t be getting phone call after phone call from those assholes, wouldn’t have to deal with and comfort his sorry ass all the damn time, wouldn’t-

 

“Hey.” Twist pinched his little toe, Portugal squeaking even as he looked up with a watery glare. Twist was staring back with a fierce expression. “You know I’d rather be helpin’ than have ya on yer own like this.”

 

Portugal glared for a moment longer before the tears in his sockets made it too hard to see, his face pushing back into the pillow as he sniffled.

 

“Dumbass hormones.” he mumbled, politely ignoring the laugh that received from Twist. 

 

The rest of the night was spent in bed, Twist eventually swaddling him in a couple old cotton blankets and kissing the top of his skull with a pronounced “Mwah!” before leaving him to sleep. Unfortunately, being pregnant meant he often got less sleep than he needed to actually function (not that it was a lot in the first place, but being kept up by pain and the vague sense of foreign magic from his own body kinda made it difficult to keep his cool on the best of days.)

 

So he laid in the bed, not quite wide awake but close enough that he was annoyed as hell, eyelights staring at the wall beside him. The paint was old, chipping away at the corners. For a while he distracted himself with the thought of how it would feel to peel all of it away from the drywall, until even that becomes boring and he was back where he started. 

 

Turning over to face the other direction, he kicked at the blankets until they were mostly off and down at the bottom of the bed where Twist would find them and fold them back up in the morning. Portugal would do it himself, but couldn’t, hadn’t been able to for a while. When this whole thing was over, he’d fold his own damn blankets, and they’d be neat as fuck.

 

Sighing, he closed his eyes, willing himself to drift off until, finally, sweet sleep came.


	13. Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slightly graphic birth process stuff
> 
> so if that squicks you, maybe skip this one

He was due at the end of the month, or at least, that’s what the doc had told him during his last visit. After that ominous warning, Twist had him on bed rest, which lasted of about a day before P was waddling around, both hands supporting his stomach as he loudly proclaimed that he was not staying in a fucking bed for the next four weeks. After the few attempts to carry him back to the bedroom ended in intense screeching and a few new claw marks, it was decided that as long as he stayed put and let Twist help him around, he could sit on the couch in the living room. 

 

In the end, he stayed on the couch, determined to not let himself be bed ridden until the day he had the damn kid. Laundry was his main job, folding the clothes becoming a relaxing pastime as he watched whatever garbage was on the channels Twist paid for. More often then not it was some garbage Gordon Ramsay shitshow that was nothing but screaming and crying.

 

Although, with the other garbage there was to watch, he would take it happily.

 

Hissing in discomfort, Portugal bent over a little as wave after wave of painful pressure moved through his magic. His hands laid flat under the edge of his stomach, his magic feeling out to make sure the kid was okay. Everything seemed fine, whatever it was just the weird cramps he’d been having all that day. The doc had told him about what he would go through when going into labor, and that the pain that came with it could happen as a fake out to prepare him for the real deal.

 

“Not till the end o’ the month…” he mumbled to himself, closing his sockets through the pain and breathing deep until it passed. Huffing a sigh, he sat back up, reaching for the next towel, only to find Twist staring intensely at him from the other side of the room, hands in his pockets but undoubtedly messing with the coin he loved so much. 

 

Rolling his eyes, he laid the newly folded towel with its brothers and sisters. “I’m fine, asshole. The kid’s not due yet, so get yer ass out of the house and get us some grub.”

 

Twist didn’t move at first, an unsure expression on his face, but Portugal glared until he chuckled, bringing up his hands in surrender. “Alrigh’, sweetheart. What’re ya in tha mood fer?”

 

A quickly rattled off answer of increasingly gross ingredients later and Twist was out the door, promising to return as soon as he was able. Portugal waved him off before settling deeper into the couch, glaring down at his stomach. 

 

“Ya better not come early. I haven’t talked to tha adoption people yet…” And really, he wasn’t ready for it. From what he’d read and been told by the doc, it was one of the most painful things a person could go through. He’d been through a lot in his life, but in every way possible he wasn’t ready for that much pain. 

 

Grimacing as another small wave of pain moved through his belly, down into his pelvis, he determinedly began folding another towel, moving through the pain in a vain effort to ignore it. Not two minutes later and he was nearly bent in half, panting as a heavy wave of discomfort and pressure, painful pressure, moved in a downward way through his belly. 

 

That felt...not great. Were the fake ones supposed to be this intense? He struggled to sit back up, the intense pain making his sockets water as he grit his fangs against it. After a solid five minutes, it finally began to taper off, though his sockets widened as a new sensation began down by his pelvis.

 

His damn water had just broken.

 

Panic set in, his breathing turning erratic as he desperately clawed his way up from the now soaked couch, the green fluid mocking him as he tried to stand, legs wobbling dangerously under him. His pants were stuck to his bones, a faint squishing sound making his panic all the more prevalent as he searched the room for the damn phone. Why couldn’t have Twist kept it in a nice, easy to reach place! He didn’t have time to play fucking hide and seek, he needed help, he needed Twist!

 

Finally the black plastic of the stupid device caught the edge of his vision, Portugal moving awkwardly as yet another wave of pain caught him off guard. Snatching it up, he all but tore the buttons, heaving each breath as he held it to the side of his skull.

 

“Heya, sweetheart, did ya ferget somethin-”

 

“Twist come home right now.” He knew the desperation in his voice sounded pitiful, but it would have Twist over much faster than normally possible and he needed him.

 

“I’ll be right there, sweetheart, stay calm.”

 

Portugal laughed, the sound more of a whine than anything, before hanging up and sliding to the floor, hunched over himself as the pain made his bones quake. Time moved strangely after that, the only sensations he could really put together being the overwhelming pain and the one time he vomited. He hoped Twist wouldn’t be too upset about the carpet…

 

After a long, endless moment of nebulous pain, there was a hand on his shoulder, warm golden eyelights staring down at him, and in that moment he began to sob.

 

“It’s okay, P, I gotcha, yer okay, c’mon le’s stand ya up-” Twist’s voice was a constant hand on his back, even as he all but picked him up and helped him to the door. Somewhere in the back of Portugal’s mind, he felt a little embarrassed about being outside with his pants wet like they were, but he wasn’t aware enough to really care. 

 

“C’mon, le’s sit ya down, easy there darlin’, there ya go…”

 

He was in a car? They were driving, someone else was talking, but they sounded far away. Things blended together after that, the pain being the one thing he could really focus on, other than Twist’s voice. Twist was present even as the lights changed and someone began touching him, even as the pain became so much more intense that he was sure he was broken into shattered pieces.

 

Then the pain stopped, and the darkness let him drift off into a more peaceful place. A place that felt like Twist’s magic, soft and protective. Safe.


	14. Final Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this ^^

Something felt warm around him, soft and supple beneath the tips of his fingers. He gripped it, whatever it was, grounding himself as his consciousness slowly came back to him. There was a faint, aching pain in his pelvis, but he felt almost...relieved. Like a pressure that had been there was gone, finally allowing him to breath easy.

 

It took him nearly a full minute to realize that the magic stomach that had been a veritable prison for the past several months was gone. His sockets popping open, he stared down at his now bare spine, hands patting over the gown he was wearing in disbelief. He had the kid? He remembered the pain, fucking unbelievable pain, but not a whole lot other than that. How the hell did he get to the hospital? 

 

“P? Ya jackass, why didn’ ya tell me yer awake?!”

 

Portugal looked up, still hazy as he took in Twist, the bastard standing beside the bed, his own hand between Twist’s. He looked down at his captured hand, glared back up at Twist, then, very politely said, “I just woke up, asshat.”

 

Twist chuckled, leaning down to plant a peck of a kiss on the top of his skull, smiling cheekily as Portugal’s face lit up. “I was worried ‘bout ya. Both o’ us were, ya didn’t wake up fer a good while after the kid came out.”

 

Portugal’s brows furrowed, the confusion replacing the flustered feeling from Twist’s kiss. “Both o’ you?” Glancing around the room revealed no one else, though now that he was starting to wake up fully there was a leather jacket slung over the back of the one other chair in the room. The sign that it wasn’t a Sans eased him up a little, though he still felt tense. No one else was supposed to know about his pregnancy.

 

Twist looked away, a little ashamed, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah...I was with Cash when ya called. He was drivin’ me to tha store fer yer food.” He chuckled, then glanced back at the closed door. “He was worried, when I told ‘im what was goin’ on. Shocked, even.”

 

He tried to feel indignant that someone else had seen him in that state, but… he was relieved that someone had been there to help. “I guess he told tha others, then.” Okay, so he was still a little angry.

 

Twist chuckled, the sound nervous. “He did. They’re all...urm. Confused? Ta say tha least.”

 

Portugal rolled his eyes. “Let ‘em be.” Huffing a sigh, he laid back on the bed, letting his sockets hang low, though he let Twist continue holding his hand. 

 

There was silence for a while, Portugal still exhausted enough that their usual banter was too much. Twist continued to hold his hand, slowly rubbing circles into his carpals and massaging the bone. 

 

“I was afraid, too.” Twist’s voice came just as P felt himself drifting off, his sockets slitting back open as he continued. “Was afraid somethin’ went wrong, that ya’d up and dust on me.” It was quiet, oh so quiet, but the words felt like an explosion of emotion in Portugal’s mind. He could hear the faint, faint shiver of fear that still tainted Twist’s voice, the small tremor that sounded when he spoke. 

 

Rather than answer, he tightened his grip in Twist’s hands, holding as tightly as he was able.

 

_ I’m here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. _

 

After a long moment, Twist squeezed back, shifting so he was sitting as close as possible. “Go back ta sleep, darlin’, they said ya’d need yer rest.”

 

Portugal nodded, letting his sockets close once more, his grip on Twist’s hand remaining even as he drifted off.


End file.
